Brooklyn is Forbidden
by Princess-Bunhead
Summary: Sophia hated her life as an aristocrat. She wanted friends, and to live a carefree life. After she ran away and befriended Les, things were fine at first, but slowly took a turn (Hey guys! This is actually my first fic in 16 years. After bashing my old horribly written fic, a friend challenged me to write a brand new fic!)
1. Chapter 1: The Runaway

The old grandfather clock down the hall struggled to chime and confirm the midnight hour. Members of the Bryant family had fallen asleep hours earlier, except for one. The youngest member of the aristocratic family rushed to pack and mentally go over her plan of escape for the countless time. Nerves were starting to take over, that much was apparent when the size of her suitcase changed three times in four hours. Several times she would walk around the room and remind herself why she had to do this, why she had to detach from the aristocratic life. A small suitcase sat on her bed, inside held two simple outfits, three books, a couple pieces of jewelry that belonged to her great-grandmother, and a photograph of her grandfather. She was walking away from so much, but had decided this chapter in her life had to end.

Ava Bryant was the youngest daughter to a millionaire New York architect. At a young age she took lessons in acting, music, dancing, and singing. It quickly became apparent Mrs. Bryant had plans for young Ava because once her daughter was old enough to enter public school, tutors were hired so these lessons weren't interrupted. Ava's two older brothers not only attended public school, but were recently accepted into college. Parties were constantly held at the Bryant mansion, and Ava played the piano, sang, or on occasion recited Shakespeare while in full costume. A few times her father used her by inviting associates to dinner and Ava performed for them. Recently she turned sixteen, her parents idea of a birthday gift was to sign her up for a vaudeville audition in Manhattan.

She never had a friend, her mother never let her mingle with other aristocrat girls her age. Ava despised her parents for not giving her the same luxury as her older brothers, a chance to attend school and make friends, even experience romance instead of just read about it. Women who attended the parties mentioned ungrateful brats who ran away from home, the more she heard it Ava wanted to do it. Lack of courage kept her from actually following through, but after her parents told her about the vaudeville audition she made up her mind to escape the depressing life of an entertainer and take control of her own life.

Quietly pushing aside her collection of 78 records, Ava stood in front of her full length mirror located near the window. Moonlight trickled into the dark room so she could clearly see her outfit. During the last several months she rummaged through the attic, grateful her mother never threw anything away, since she found her brother's old clothes. Surprisingly, after a few minor alterations his clothes fit her, and helped hide her figure. Brown knickers, a faded green button up shirt, a tan plaid jacket, a gray cap, then her black stockings and brown lace up boots. Unsure of what to do with her long thick hair, Ava braided it then hid it inside the shirt and jacket, ignoring how hot it felt against her naked back.

Looking back at herself in the mirror, Ava took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The time had finally come, there was no turning back. She snapped the suitcase shut then stepped over to the open window. Ava found herself thankful that her mother insisted on giving her a room on the first floor, aristocrat protocol states that only staff reside on the first floor. Her parents insisted Ava's bedroom had to connect to her practice room. It was a weak excuse, Ava wondered if fellow aristocrats really believed it. She poked her head outside and surveyed the area to discover the streets were clear. Soon a small suitcase was flung from the window, landing in a nearby rosebush, then a teenager clumsily dropped into the garden below with a muffled "oooff!"

Terrified she woke someone up, Ava didn't move for almost ten minutes. The staff at her father's mansion were trained to be on high alert, the smallest noise they were expected to investigate. Satisfied she wouldn't run into the gardener or butler, Ava grabbed her suitcase, crawled away from the mansion like spider, then disappeared into the night.

* * *

Another morning in Manhattan started off like any other. Business owners checked over their stock and dusted surfaces, before checking the clock and unlocking the doors. The sound of hooves clip-clopping up and down the street alongside newsies screaming out the latest headline. Three years earlier newsies went on strike against Joseph Pulitzer, now in 1902 it felt like a distant memory. It was an important event for 1899 but it was a brand new century. Many of those kids weren't newsies anymore, so it was best to move on just like they did. People were more interested in Rag music, and snatching the new toy known as a Teddy Bear.

A young man in his mid-twenties, dressed in an expensive suit, exited the tailor's shop and stepped into the side alley. He threw an empty box into a large crate that held broken baskets, empty boxes, and other discarded items then started back inside when something caught his eye. A body lay on top of a crate right next to the door. Rolling his eyes, the young worker kicked the crate as hard as he could and growled, "I've told you kids time and again! Go to the diner across the street for scraps!"

The door slammed shut the same time Ava's eyes snapped open and she sat up. Before she could catch herself, the young teen tumbled onto the dirt floor. Ava completely forgot what happened a few hours earlier, but the crash landing quickly jogged her memory. Rubbing her backside as she slowly pulled herself off the ground, she mumbled, "And a good morning to you too."

After leaving the Bryant mansion, Ava just wanted to disappear. Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were going to be dramatic when announcing their daughter was missing, and use every lie possible to hunt her down. Therefore, Manhattan was going to be the haystack and Ava planned to be the needle that can't be found. The problem was as she darted through the empty streets, sleep consumed the young teen and it couldn't be ignored. She couldn't remember curling up on the crate.

Slender fingers brushed down dark brown bangs before she jammed the cap on her head. A quick check to make sure her long hair wasn't exposed before pulling up her stockings and adjusting the outfit. Yawning, the young girl snatched up her suitcase and stumbled out of the alley. _Put your acting lessons to good use! You're not an aristocrat, so act like it!_

"...daughter of millionaire kidnapped!" screamed a newsie as he waved a newspaper at the bustling crowds.

Ava pulled the cap over her light gray eyes as she started down the busy street. _How am I going to blend in when I'm the front page news? _

"Hey Kid!"

A hand fell on her shoulder and she immediately froze. Within seconds of entering the New York street life, her family found her. All those months of planning and researching so that she would successfully blend in, only to be found within seconds. The papers were sure to print a scandal, resulting in her parents sending her away. Weren't they planning on doing that already by pushing to have her join vaudeville? A sigh escaped her lips as she turned to accept her fate, then stared in shock at a newsboy who had to be in the preteen age range.

"Sorry to scare you, but I saw you leave the alley," he explained, adjusting the papers under his arm, "do you need a place to stay?"

She almost answered him, but why would he be so quick to help a stranger? Ava always heard street kids trusted nobody. Could that have been one more lie aristocrats told their children so they wouldn't mingle with the street kids? Wouldn't surprise her, considering she heard for years not to go near a street boy because he'd rape her. Remembering her mental pep talk seconds earlier, she replied, "I don't have any money."

His dark brown eyes lit up. "You could earn it! Be a newsie like the rest of us!"

Her brow furrowed. "Us?"

The newsboy didn't answer, instead he grabbed her arm and started to push through the morning crowds. Ava tried to wrench her arm free, but he had a death grip on her. One thing she had to admit, her short experience on the street proved more eventful than sixteen years of constant lessons. It wasn't even nine o'clock. Mentally she kicked herself for not leaving sooner, since nothing other than fear held her back. _You are such an idiot_

"Here we are! The lodging house." he let go of Ava's arm as they neared a building with a small sign over the door that read _**Newsboy Lodging House**_.

Ava rubbed her arm as her gray eyes looked up at the sign, then shifted to look at the mystery newsie. "I'm not going to take advice from a stranger."

"Oh! I'm Les. Les Jacobs."

"Well Les Jacobs, you never answered my question. Who is 'us'?"

Les proved one shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Standing at exactly five foot, he looked like he lacked muscle but his death grip on Ava's arm proved otherwise. He set his papers on the front steps of the lodging house, then moved to stand behind her. His hands clamped firmly onto her shoulders as his knees rested behind hers and light pushed her legs out, directing her into the building. There was no chance of squirming away, she tried. _This kid is good_

"Les..." A young adult male stood behind the front desk. The look on his face indicated he was used to the boy's antics, but this was new, "What're you doin'?"

"Hey Cowboy!" Les released Ava and waved, "I brought a new recruit!"

Cowboy, or Jack Kelly, arched an eyebrow. Les tended to recruit street kids to become newsies as if they were lost puppies who needed a new home. It wasn't a bad thing, the kid was devoted to being a newsie, and to making sure street kids had a place to stay. Focusing his attention on the young woman he asked, "Are you interested in becomin' a newsie?"

"Jack, she doesn't have any money."

"Beat it," Jack pointed to the door, "finish sellin' yer papers."

After a hasty retreat by Les, Jack stepped out from behind the front desk. Faded black slacks and a faded gray button up shirt, accented a homemade black vest. His blonde-brown hair was slicked back and parted down the middle. As he leaned against the desk, he asked, "What's yer name?"

"Sophia." her parents shortened the name, thinking it sounded better as a stage name.

"You look like Mr. Bryant's daughter, the one who is said to be kidnapped."

She stared at him. Her mind told her to beg, plead, even bargain with him not to take her back to her parents. If she were a damsel in distress, that's how she would react. Earlier she told herself to quit thinking like an aristocrat, she was now a street kid. Right now she was playing the ultimate chess game, if she made the wrong move it was game over.

"Think that braid inside yer collar'll fool people?"

Her hand shot up and touched a section of her braid sticking out of her jacket. During her trek through the streets with Les, the braid slowly bunched up and spilled out. While planning, she never thought that could happen. She had no idea what to do with her hair, a barber would just call her parents to confirm the request. Every hairstyle she tried resulted in the cap not fitting, but she had to use the cap because it made her unrecognizable. The only option she had was a long braid down her back, but it failed.

"I only take in newsies. Considerin' yer headline news at the moment, I'll pay to get yer hair cut off." Jack gave her a stern look and shoved a hand in his pocket, "but take advantage of me an' I call yer parents. No games."

Sophia nodded. "Understood."

Walking around to once again take his place behind the front desk, Jack searched several shelves for the registration logbook. Upon finding it, he flipped through several pages until he found a blank one near the back. Pulling a pencil stub from his pocket, he scribbled vigorously on the page then asked, "Age?"

"Sixteen."

Quickly scribbling, he stated, "Newsies usually pick their own sellin' spot. I'm makin' the decision that you sell with Les fer a few weeks. When yer comfortable with the sellin' routine, either continue with him or find yer own place."

"I can defend myself. My brothers constantly started physical fights with me."

Though he didn't react, Jack liked what she told him. Newsgirls were common, he had no problem with taking in a newsgirl, but an aristocrat trying to adjust to street life was a little more complicated. Jack didn't feel like wasting his time dealing with rich kid drama. Newsies had to defend themselves, it was part of living on the streets. If the only complaint he had against her was she beat up one of the newsboys, that didn't bother him.

"Alright," he closed the logbook and stuffed it back in the shelf before once again leaving his place behind the front desk and motioning for her to follow him, "The boys sleep upstairs, your room is down this hall and to the left." Jack walked down a long hall, dramatically turned left and opened the first door on his right, "Damn, looks like we'll have to clean it before you can sleep in here."

Sophia glanced inside the room and started to say something when the telephone buzzed, forcing Jack to quickly step away. The room had a strong musty smell, which complimented the faded peeling wallpaper. A thick layer of dust covered everything in the room, a few steps inside looked like footsteps in dirty snow. She wondered why the room hadn't been used in such a long time. Did someone die in here? Was the room haunted? _Stop it, you always let your imagination run wild!_

"This used to be the former owner's wife's room," Jack stepped into the room, arms crossed over his chest, "The other rooms down this hall were for newsgirls, she watched 'em while her husband watched us."

"I take it...when she passed away he just left it alone."

Jack nodded. "The girls left too. They didn't want the city to come after old man Kloppman and shut down the place."

"Did he retire and give you the place?"

Sadness filled his smokey gray eyes. Lifting a hand and rubbing the back of his head, Jack explained, "He passed away about a year and a half ago. For a lot of us who lived here, he was like the father we never had, or the mentor we desperately needed." he spun on his heel and exited the room, "The city wanted to tear this place down after old man Klopper died, so I quit sellin' newspapers an' started runnin' the place."

Following after him, she set her suitcase next to the door and asked, "How on earth did the city agree to that?"

Jack grinned. "I know people."

The rest of the morning was spent in a tiny apartment, Jack and a woman by the name of Sarah argued over how to cut Sophia's hair. Jack demanded all of it be cut off, while Sarah stated that Sophia should still look like a girl. It took showing Sarah the headlines for her to back down, though she voiced how upset she was over losing the fight. Glancing down at piles of hair that covered the apartment floor, Sophia realized she only kept the long hair because her parents friends and business associates told her she looked beautiful with it. How often she was compared to stage actresses who also had long hair, it was just one more thing that tied her to the entertainment industry. She was finally free.


	2. Chapter 2: First Day of Work

"Hey Cowboy! Is Sophia ready?"

The lodging house owner stood at the foot of the staircase, half listening to thumps and bumps that resonated from upstairs. During Jack's years as a newsboy old man Kloppman stood in the same place after waking the boys up, counting to confirm nobody skipped out on work. Now that he ran the lodging house, Jack had a new appreciation for Kloppman because it wasn't easy to run a business. A fact Jack quickly discovered the hard way as he assisted Sophia in cleaning out her room. Hours of scrubbing, mopping, dusting, and replacing a mattress left Jack with the realization the back rooms should have been cleaned after he took over.

Ignoring his sore muscles, Jack glanced over at Les, then pointed down the hall and instructed, "First hall to your left, the first door on your right. Knock first."

Les walked past his friend and mentor, excited to finally teach someone how to be a newsie. Three years earlier he and his older brother were thrown into the newsie profession after their father was fired due to an on the job injury. Everyone in the family had to step up, even their sister Sarah. Jack turned into a selling partner and showed the brothers selling tricks, which David voiced his dislike over. After one day of selling, the newsies decided to go on strike. Now Les had a chance to pass on what he learned, since Jack wasn't selling anymore and his brother David left New York for college.

Standing in front of the indicated door, the preteen knocked and called, "It's Les!"

Movement could be heard in the room, then the door opened and Sophia stepped out into the hall. The only difference in her outfit was a solid gray jacket. Smiling at him, she replied, "I heard when you came in."

The preteen circled his new friend, a confused look on his face. He reached over and removed her cap, dropped his hands on his hips and asked, "Why am I told that your hair is horrible?"

Sophia snatched her cap back, only to blush at his words. "You think it looks okay?"

"Yeah! Sarah's been sayin' all mornin' to prepare for th' worst."

"She argued with Jack about the length."

Les snorted. "For once he got his way. Well c'mon, can't sell standin' around here!"

Pushing her cap over her pixie-style haircut, Sophia followed Les toward the lodging house exit. They both waved to Jack as he stomped up the stairs, then left the building and stepped into the waking streets of Manhattan. Sophia never again had to worry about angry shop owners chasing her out of the alley, though if that hadn't happened Sophia would have never met Les. He didn't have to reach out to her, but for some reason the young newsboy chose to, and in the last twenty-four hours Sophia's life continued to change in a positive way.

"Here," Les handed her a few coins as they neared _The World_ distribution center, "this'll pay for one hundred papers."

"You must be mad! I can't sell that many my first day!"

"Hey Kid! Who's yer friend?"

An Italian youth with a cigar settled between two fingers, waved as he crossed the street to join the two friends. His appearance matched the description Sophia's uncle used when he claimed someone stole his winnings at the tracks. A kid with a white shirt, brown and gold vest, greasy black hair, and a broken down dark gray cap. The description seemed too convenient because in a crowded area how could he know that specific person took his winnings? There was never mention of a gun pulled or catching the youth picking his pocket. Nobody in the family believed the thief existed, especially since her uncle was known for his addiction to both gambling and alcohol.

"Sophia, this is Racetrack Higgins. He only sells in the mornin'."

"That might be changin'," Racetrack searched his pockets for a match, "Over at Irvin' Hall she's gettin' more acts, so my hours might be extended. My days as a newsie could be comin' to a close."

Down the street a bell rang, the same time horse drawn carts filled with freshly printed newspapers emerged from _The World_ distribution center. Newspaper stands needed to be stocked with the newest headlines. Newsies were expected to form a line on one side of the courtyard, so as to stay clear of the horse carts. The line moved up a ramp that led to a raised platform, which then brought the newsies to a barred window. On the other side of the window was an office, next door to the office was a chute where stacks of papers were dropped. A man sat in front of the window and asked each newsie how many papers they wanted, documented the purchase in a ledger, then slid the amount of papers under the bars after receiving payment.

Sophia stood between Les and Racetrack as they waited in line. She listened to other newsies buy papers to get a rough idea of how many papers she should purchase. One hundred seemed high on the first day, even Jack told her the night before to be careful when choosing an amount. Last thing Sophia wanted to do was buy too many and waste money on unsold papers. Racetrack strolled up to the window and bought his usual fifty papers. Les decided to go next, so he walked past Sophia and bought his papers then followed Racetrack down the side stairs into the courtyard. Sophia didn't want to hold up the line so she stepped up to the window, a man with a droopy mustache smiled at her and asked, "How many, young lady?"

"One hundred," she squeaked, removing the coins from her jacket pocket and placing them on the counter. The gentleman gathered up the coins, then slid a stack of newspapers toward her. Sophia quickly gathered up her purchase and rushed down the stairs into the courtyard.

Pushing past other newsies who stood around in the courtyard, looking through papers and talking over the headlines, Sophia tried to find Les or Racetrack. She glanced in the direction of the distribution center's exit and saw a familiar figure sitting on the curb, leaning against a stack of newspapers, casually reading. Shifting the stack of papers in her arms, the teenager exited the congested area to join her young friend.

"Can you believe it? A movie theater finally opens here in America, and its in California."

"You waste time with those motion pictures?" Sophia teased, playfully pushing his cap over his eyes as she sat next to him.

"Hey! I saw that _**Trip to the Moon**_ picture seven times," Les set the paper down in his lap to remove the cap and brush back his bangs, "Have you ever seen a moving picture?"

"None of it is real."

He stuck his tongue out at her before folding the newspaper back up, then gathering the entire stack in his arms. She laughed as she stood to her feet, stack of papers held firmly under one arm. While he led Sophia through the busy morning crowds to their selling spot, Les mentioned, "Race had to leave, knowin' him he wanted to place a bet at the tracks."

"He seems like a nice guy."

"Kind of a wise guy at times, but once he's yer friend, he's loyal to the end."

Aristocrats had no clue the true meaning of friendship. How often Sophia saw her own mother say someone was her dearest friend, only to turn around and stab that person in the back. Her father was no different, claiming business partners were close friends until a business deal went sour. She also thought about her brothers, the times friends at school were considered a convenience. Aristocrats would easily destroy the reputation of every person they called friend, as long as they got something out of the deal. Sophia once again wished her decision to leave that life had acted upon sooner.

"We'll be sellin' by the Brooklyn Bridge," Les grinned, "maybe Spot'll come around."

Sophia stopped walking and gave him an odd look. "Spot? Is this a person or a dog?"

Les lifted his dark brown eyes upward, as if in deep thought. "I'm told he's a newsie, but I've never seen him sell a paper."

"Sounds like a punk to me."

They neared the Manhattan side of New York's famous bridge, immediately Les instructed Sophia on how best to sell papers and work the crowds. Feeling like a student about to take a final exam, Sophia stood off to the side and watched her friend as he sold a few papers. Flirting with ladies, throwing compliments at businessmen, while pushing exaggerated articles seemed easy enough. She walked down the bridge and placed her stack of papers on a bench before attempting to cry out a few catchy headlines. A few people glanced her way, but nobody took the bait. _Maybe they heard that one from Les, try another one!_ She searched through the paper, jumped up on the bench and tried again. This time she was completely ignored by passers-by, causing the newsgirl to release a frustrated huff as she jumped off the bench.

_You're trying too hard, they can sense you're nervous!_ Her gray eyes glanced out at the lapping water, then at the paper in her fist. Lifting it over her head she cried out, "Liberty's Torch to be relit!" A college youth bought up her paper, she quickly grabbed up another from her stack as a few more people surrounded her. The headline hadn't been fixed, maybe it didn't need to be. Searching for another headline, the young woman screamed, "Mabel Fenton's mother faints in the courtroom!"

The shocking court case of Mabel Fenton Haines, Sophia's parents and most of the aristocrat community couldn't stop talking about it. A woman from New Jersey accused of murdering her two year old step-daughter with arsenic. People swarmed around the newsgirl, throwing money at her and ripping the newspaper from her hand. Before she knew it, all one hundred papers were gone and her pockets were full of coins.

"Hey not bad!" Les scooped up her cap from the ground and handed it to her, "That case is a big seller, not sure what we'll do once its over."

Shoving the cap on her head and adjusting her outfit, she mumbled, "Yeah, but did they have to mob me like that?"

He chuckled. "How 'bout we head over to the diner an' see if Racetrack is over there? You can meet some of the other newsies too!"

Before Sophia could respond, he grabbed her arm and yanked her through the bustling streets of Manhattan. Passing several shops, something specific in the bookshop window caught her eye. Tugging her arm back resulted in Les losing his balance and almost colliding with Sophia. She quickly jumped back, and he fell to the ground in a heap. Slowly sitting on his knees, the newsboy glanced up at the sign then gave his friend a dirty look.

"I almost died for books?"

"A new Sherlock Holmes book! I adore Holmes!"

"What're we lookin' at?"

The aroma of alcohol and nicotine suddenly filled Sophia's nostrils as she turned her head to see a young man, possibly in his twenties standing next to her. His bright blue eyes stared back at her from under a light gray cap. His rough features told her he was a fighter, but she could tell he expected people to respect him. She couldn't stand people with that kind of personality.

"Oh hey Spot," Les pointed to Sophia as he rubbed his shoulder, "This is Sophia, she started sellin' today."

"A newsgirl, can't remember the last time Manhattan had one of those," he removed the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still fixated on Sophia as he released a puff of smoke, "Newsies can't afford books."

Sophia glared at him. "No, but at least _**I**_ can read them."

Spot arched an eyebrow and watched as she stormed off. He spent years building up a reputation in New York, the name Spot Conlon was supposed to intimidate other street kids. This newsgirl never backed down. She did what no woman dared to do, she insulted him. He was used to women flirting and treating him with respect. Sophia was one to keep an eye on.


	3. Chapter 3: The Warning

Jack Kelly stood in the middle of the upstairs bunk room, rubbing his temples in frustration. Kloppman built the bunks himself, but after years of teenage boys rough housing the beds have deteriorated. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough money to fix the bunks, or replace the mattresses. He had yet to check the washroom, what plumbing issues lurked in there Jack really didn't want to know.

"Hey Jacky Boy!"a familiar voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Up here Spot!" the lodging house owner exclaimed as he tapped his foot against the post of his old bunk. Countless nights swapping exaggerated stories with his friends, playing cards, or sitting out on the fire escape before bed. Kloppman screaming at them 'lights out', then awakened early in the morning by 'Wake up! Carryin' the banner!'. Too bad adulthood came and ruined those moments.

The Brooklynite's every step was welcomed by a loud creak. He entered the room, a gold tipped polished black cane gripped in his hand. "Are you sure it was worth savin' this run down place?"

"I was just askin' myself that question." Jack signed and slid a hand against his slicked back hair, "Everythin' needs fixin', an' I can't afford to fix it."

A grin slowly spread across Spot's face. "Hearin' you talk responsible just ain't somethin' I'm ready to accept."

Jack shot his friend a dirty look. "Is there a reason yer here?"

Clearing his throat, Spot wandered further into the room as he fiddled with a skeleton key that hung around his neck. His friend gave up his dream to live in Santa Fe so fellow newsies had a place to live, even Spot had to admit he envied Jack. When the previous owner died, the city placed an ad in the newspaper to find a new owner, but nobody responded. While Jack had every intention to leave New York, the train ticket paid for and in his hand, he found out that without an owner the place would be demolished. After receiving advice from a couple friends, Jack went to the city to discuss his taking over the position.

"This is one day I can't stand around an' chat," Jack moved to the back wall, and attempted to open the window, "since cleanin' Sophia's room yesterday, my to-do list‒."

"I met yer newsgirl‒."

"No!"

Spot blinked, shocked at the response he received. "All I said‒."

The former newsboy glanced over his shoulder as he continued to try and open the window. "Leave her alone. I mean it."

Walking elegantly down the aisle of rickety bunks, the Brooklyn leader leaned against an end bunk and watched his friend struggle. Perhaps the window was fused shut, moisture and heat or some other science concept. Maybe the frame had been painted over years earlier and needed to be chipped free. Spot could suggest these things, but he enjoyed watching Jack in a vulnerable state, especially when an inanimate object was involved. Finally, he strolled over and without a word, reached up and switched a small latch before opening the window with ease. Jack glared, the huff that escaped his lips could be mistaken for an expletive, then leaned against the sill and listened to the street life below.

"Any specific reason‒."

"Spot, I've known you fer years, so I know yer history with women. Just leave Sophia alone."

The color red flared in Spot's icy blue eyes, the same time he lifted the cane in his hand and pointed it at Jack. His anger rested on the fact Jack forbade him to have contact with Sophia due to his reputation as a womanizer. Smoking and drinking many easily overlooked but his scandalous lifestyle with women happened to be one of the reasons he turned into a fighter. Jack could tell him no, but Spot wasn't about to give up so easily.

Quick footsteps against the creaky stairs terminated the conversation. Les sprinted into the room, slowing down his pace once he saw Spot's cane pointed at Jack. Everyone knew that wasn't a good sign. The preteen started to slowly back out of the room, until Jack quickly raised his arm and motioned for Les to step forward. Standing to his full height, he brushed dirt from his vest, crossed his arms over his chest, walked past Les to the bunk room door, then glanced down the stairs.

"Where's Sophia?"

"Last I saw her she was with Race."

"You left her with Race?!" the lodging house owner bolted down the stairs and exited the lodging house. His paranoia came from his own personal experience; escape leading to the creation of a new identity. He made one mistake that almost ruined the new life he created.

Spot started to lean against the wall cluttered with faded posters, but reminded himself the only clean room in the place was Sophia's, wherever that was located. Moving toward Les, he asked, "How is it the kid ends up babysittin' this newsgirl?"

"Forget it Spot. She doesn't like you."

His jaw dropped. A woman despise Spot Conlon was unheard of! "Our meeting wasn't even five seconds! What did you tell her?!"

"Some girls can make decisions on their own." Les hated himself for enjoying Spot's break down over Sophia despising him. Street kids knew young ladies flocked to Spot, they worshiped him. Turf wars broke out because young women fought over Spot Conlon. Les found it interesting that Spot never cared what people said or thought about him. Now, there's a girl who could care less if Spot existed and he couldn't handle it.

* * *

In his haste to leave the lodging house, Jack never asked Les exactly where he might find Sophia. Walking quickly through the late afternoon crowds, Jack decided to start at Tibby's Diner, a usual hangout for the newsies. A simple place to eat, several businessmen were known to come in and mingle with the street kids as they ate lunch. The owner gave free meals to the kids, or a few of the bankers and lawyers made sure the meals were covered. During the strike, Jack and his friends made Tibby's one of their meeting places.

"Hey Jack!" a young newsboy with honey colored hair called out from across the street and waved.

Jack waved, ran across the street, and asked the newsboy, "Hey there Shortstack! Do you know if Racetrack is at the diner? It's important I find him."

Shortstack shook his head. "He and the girl ran out the back door when a bunch of cops came in askin' questions."

"Askin' questions..." his face drained and his eyes grew large. Race, Les, and the other newsies must have pulled quite an act for Sophia to escape undetected, Rummaging through his pocket, Jack found a coin and handed it to Shortstack, "Any idea where they might have gone?"

The blonde newsboy snatched the coin and suggested, "Might try Irving Hall, since Race works there now. I know the girl wanted to sell more papes."

"Alright you've been a big help, but I want you to do one more thing," Shortstack's face lit up, younger newsies saw Jack Kelly as a legend, "tell the others this newsgirl is one of your own now. At the moment she's front page news, got it?"

"Hear ya loud an' clear!" Shortstack gave Jack a thumbs up, then skipped off, immediately flagging down a fellow newsie.

Heaving a relieved sigh, grateful the newsies would watch over Sophia when he couldn't, Jack started for Irving Hall. The owner, Medda Larkson, let the newsies use her theater during a strike rally, unfortunately it was raided by the police. Seeing the brutality against children angered Medda, so she opened up her business to the newsies. Before the strike they were unable to set foot inside because it would bother both customers & performers, after the strike newsies could sell in and outside the building. Medda's one rule being that selling stops once the show starts.

Out of habit, Jack entered the theater through the back door. The familiar sound of scales from musical instruments and vocals filled his ears as he pushed past endless dusty props, frayed costumes, and faded painted backdrops. Dressing room doors pushed wide open as that evening's routines blended in the hallway. Jack slid his hands in his trouser pockets and chuckled. _Never thought I'd miss sneakin' into this place._

"Hey! What're you doin' back here?! Get out!" an overweight stagehand started for Jack, stopped, then his eyes grew large and a smile appeared on his face, "Jack Kelly! Haven't seen you around here in a long time!"

"Hey Toby, good to see ya!" he shook hands with the veteran concession seller, "Haven't really had a chance to come around here since I gave up sellin' papes. Now I own the lodgin' house."

The smile faded, replaced with a look of confusion. "You're the one who took over that place? I remember the ad in the newspaper, but last I heard the city couldn't find anyone."

Jack laughed. Toby and the rest of the theater staff knew him as a rebellious kid who snuck into the theater, stole candy, and pranked customers. The few times he got caught in the act, Medda would defend him. Hard to imagine a kid like that could grow up to own a business and gain responsibility.

"Well didja come to see Miss Larkson? I'm sure‒."

"Actually I was told a newsgirl came here with Racetrack." as much as he loved Medda and wanted to see her again, Jack had a serious matter to discuss with Sophia. He didn't like how Spot acted earlier in the lodging house.

"Oh, little Sophia!" the theater worker grabbed his clown mask and bowler hat off a desk located next to the stairs that led up to the stage, "She's in the lobby, probably selling papers to gentlemen waiting for the theater to officially open again. I need to go up there to get my concessions box so let's go!"

"Open again? What does that mean?" the former newsie followed Toby across a freshly waxed stage, down rounded steps that led into an empty auditorium. A worker dusting tables waved to Toby as they continued across the auditorium toward the back doors. Jack had to admit, he was confused by the lack of entertainment.

"I'm surprised your friend Racetrack hasn't informed you of what's been happening here!" the portly gentleman's voice echoed as he snapped on the mask and continued to explain, "In this new century people are rushing to see motion pictures, Irving Hall was on the verge of closing its doors forever."

"Oh but‒."

Toby opened the door leading to the lobby, and held it open for Jack. "Miss Larkson doesn't give up easily. One thing that fills the seats is local talent. When a local performer graces the stage, we have a larger audience. So instead of trying to drag in famous names, Miss Larkson held auditions for local talent." jamming the bowler hat on his head, Toby walked down the carpeted ramp toward the lobby, "I tell you these past couple weeks have been sensational! We have to close up the theater for an hour so the cast and crew can rest!"

As Toby predicted, a few gentlemen mingled in the lobby. One man sat and read a newspaper while three others smoked and discussed politics. A poor job of acting like they weren't waiting for the theater to open the auditorium and continue its entertainment. Jack glanced past the men and spotted Sophia at the front door, handing her last newspaper to a customer. She pocketed the coins then rushed into the lobby, stopping in mid-step once her light gray eyes fell on Jack.

"Hey Toby, mind if I use the balcony?"

"I'm sure it won't be a problem. Just don't take too long, we plan to open soon." he replied as he maneuvered around Jack and walked across the room to unlock a door and disappear.

Jack motioned to Sophia as he started up the steps that led to the balcony, she hesitantly followed. The top of the stairs welcomed the two with another set of stairs, or a long hallway on either side. Starting down the carpeted hallway, Jack crossed his arms over his chest, he had no idea how to tackle this subject. Spot was like a child, tell him don't do something and he'll dedicate his life to doing that very thing. Sophia left her aristocrat life, but she spent sixteen years being an aristocrat. If Jack tells her not to do something, will she stamp her foot and do it? She didn't seem like the type, but he only knew her a day.

"Did Les tell you what happened in the diner?" Sophia couldn't stand the silence any longer, she followed after Jack as she explained, "Soon as those cops came in I hid under the table and then Les asked question after question about me. The others quickly joined in while Race and I escaped out the back door."

"Les never said you were at the diner," he turned and looked down at Sophia, "He came to the lodgin' house, an' Spot happened to be there."

Sophia wrinkled her nose, just the sound of his name disgusted her. "The illiterate street fighter?"

Jack snorted, it was the first time he heard a female insult his friend. "Sophia, stay away from Spot Conlon."

It was hard to tell if that was a suggestion, warning, or threat. "Out of curiosity, why?"

"Ever hear of a womanizer?"

"In aristocratic terms, it's called a scandal," she rolled her eyes and jammed her hands in her pockets. Her oldest brother ended up in scandal after scandal, especially after the media learned of his womanizing lifestyle. Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were quick to cover up his actions, blaming everything on the 'girls who seduced him'. Made Sophia sick the way her parents twisted everything around so they looked innocent.

Voices resonated from the auditorium, telling both Jack and Sophia it was time for them to leave. As they walked the down carpeted hallway toward the stairs, Jack stated, "I can't force you to do anything, but I've known Spot for years. I don't want to see you get hurt."

_Why should he show such concern for me?_ Sophia pushed through the crowd of people eager to watch Irving Hall's evening entertainment, and walked down the street toward the lodging house with Jack. Her mind was on overdrive because her own family only cared if it had to do with her stage career. People who knew her for a day were caring, kind, and showed concern. Except Spot. Why would they so quickly show concern for her? Were they intoxicated? Then Sophia remembered, in sixteen years her life had been void of friendship. Is this what friendship is? Yet, Jack said he was Spot's friend and warned her to stay away...something wasn't right.


	4. Chapter 4: Second Opinion

**[I am so sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter! Life got in the way, as it tends to do. I will make sure that doesn't happen again - Bunhead]**

The downpours assaulted New York, while people waited for thunder and lighting it never appeared. Everyone found that rather unusual, considering how much rain fell on the city. Large puddles in the streets looked like ponds, or small lakes. Carriages tried to maneuver around the puddles, but avoiding one meant hitting another. Hitting a puddle caused small tidal waves to splash people on the sidewalk. Those who braved the weather hugged storefronts, in an attempt to stay under store canopies that were overflowing with rain water. Every effort to keep dry was in vain, as the rain continued to darken the city of New York.

Inside the train station, Les Jacobs sat quietly on a bench and patted his coin filled pocket. The selling day started with clouds trying to shove the sun out of the way. Once the rain tore apart the cloudy sky around mid-morning, the pre-teen ducked into the first building to avoid the rainfall, and prayed the owner wouldn't kick him out. Upon entering the station, a man dressed in a bowler hat and suit asked for a newspaper then sat down to read as he waited for his train to arrive. An older woman saw the gentleman buy his newspaper and waved to Les, after helping her another traveler asked for reading material. The rain trapped people inside the station, and Les had a temporary cure for boredom.

"Delayed train from..." a uniformed worker called out from behind the ticket counter. A train delayed by the weather was soon to arrive.

While travelers started the task of collecting their luggage and other belongings, Les sat silently. He watched a woman with several kids try to wrangle them up, all the while two of them giggled and continued to play hide-and-seek. Another traveler complained because the train was delayed and he had to wait. A pretty young woman with her nose in a book sat patiently, her luggage at her feet. The weather still very cold and wet, Les had no desire to step outside, though at some point he had to brave the storm. Another lecture from Sarah was something he'd like to avoid.

Loud thunderstorms were no match for the shrill whistle and ear splitting screech of the train pulling into the station. Glowing lights crept closer, a dark form slowly appeared against the curtain of water that fell from the sky. It looked like Jules Verne's Nautilus emerging from the depths. Once the large mass slowed to a halt, Passengers sprinted from the train to the station, unable to avoid getting soaked. Train station workers, no matter how fast their efforts, couldn't prevent the luggage from looking as though it just emerged from the sea. Soggy suitcases were piled inside, as drenched passengers attempted to dry off before leaving the station. Les sighed, if he didn't start home Sarah was sure to give him the responsibility lecture. He already heard that one three times that week! Standing to his feet, the newsboy buttoned up his jacket, jammed his cap tight on his head, and walked toward the entrance.

"Les? Is that you?"

He spun around, muscles tense and eyes darting around the station. Whoever said his name, the newsboy recognized the voice, but that person didn't live in New York. A tap on his shoulder, the pre-teen's head snapped around to see his older brother, David. The former newsie stood in a navy blue suit that clung to his athletic body due to the downpours outside. His curly hair, straightened by the rain.

"You weren't supposed to come until next week."

David, used to his younger brother's brutal honesty, simply replied, "The semester was cut short by sudden maintenance in the dorms," he peeled off the jacket and draped it over his arm, heaving a sigh at the puddles he left on the floor, "Did you change selling spots?"

"I didn't wanna get wet," watching David struggle with his suit jacket, Les wondered how he himself would make the trek home, "Sarah know you're home?"

"No. I ducked in here and called a cab service, it should be here by now."

Les blinked. His older brother could pay for a carriage? They didn't have to walk across the city in the pouring rain? David nudged his younger sibling as he gathered up the damp luggage at his feet. Les grabbed a large suitcase and followed David outside. The rain had let up, it was a heavy drizzle that threatened to turn at any second. Two horse-drawn carriages waited at the curb in front of the station, making it easy for the brothers to find the one under David's name. In no time the carriage was packed up and the horse splish-splashed through the streets of Manhattan.

"I'll admit, I didn't think that was you," David started conversation as they sat inside the carriage, desperate to ignore how uncomfortable he was in wet clothing, "You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you."

"Sophia hates that I'm tall, at least that's what she says." Les refused to tell his brother that he tended to tease his best friend about her height.

David chuckled as he slid a hand over his wet hair. "Yeah Sarah's told me about this Sophia in her recent letters to me."

Les sat up, almost defensive. "What'd she say?"

"She's upset with Jack and the rules placed on Sophia."

"Ah jeez," Les rubbed his temples, "She's just usin' Sophia to fight with Jack!"

A sharp thump on the roof as the carriage slowed down, indicated it reached the apartment building where the Jacobs lived. Les hopped out and helped the driver unload David's luggage from the back of the carriage, while the older sibling counted out the fare. After paying the driver the two brothers snatched up the luggage, rushed into the apartment building, and hurried to the Jacobs apartment. Les burst through the door, ready to announce David's arrival, but Sarah wasn't anywhere to be found.

"She's probably next door," suggested David, "Just as well, I need to change out of these wet clothes."

No sooner had David disappeared into the washroom, Sarah entered the apartment. A bundle of fabric in her arms, she places it in the nearest chair. A look of confusion crossed her face when she turned around and saw the suitcases next to the door. Glancing at her younger sibling, she asked, "Are you attempting to run away?"

"Davey's home."

Her eyes lit up and she smiled wide. "No fooling?"

"He's changin' out of his wet clothes now." Les dropped his earnings on the table and sat down.

The newsie turned college student stepped out in fresh, dry clothes. Dark slacks and a sweater with college initials embroidered on the collar. He smiled at his sister and stated, "Sorry I didn't call."

Sarah maneuvered around the small apartment to embrace her brother. "Jack will be so happy to see you."

"I dunno about that," a hint of sadness in his voice as he returned the embrace, "he was pretty upset when I left for college."

Jack and David became close friends during the strike. David's education and Jack's street smarts were a perfect pairing as they went up against Pulitzer. After the strike, their friendship started to crumble after David's family received a phone call from the factory Mr. Jacobs had been fired from. Many businesses feared their workers could rise up, if it happened to Pulitzer it could happen to anyone. The factory offered Mr. Jacobs his job back and medical treatment needed for the injury suffered at work. The offer was declined, since he already accepted a job as a photographer at a newspaper firm. A journalist named Bryan Denton covered the strike and befriended the newsboys. When he heard David's father needed work, a special request was placed for his boss to interview Mr. Jacobs, unaware Jack applied for the job. The former strike leader discovered his friend's father got the job by reading his name next to an article. Instead of talking with either Bryan Denton or David, Jack let his stubborn attitude do the talking. He later tried to mend the friendship, but David made the decision to go back to school. Jack knew it was a promise he made to his family, but at the time he found every reason for it to be David's fault.

"He's struggling to keep up the lodging house," Sarah explained as she moved to the small kitchen to start dinner, "there's a lot that needs to be fixed in that building."

David frowned. "Is it really that bad?"

"Ever since Sophia moved in last month," she quickly peeled and chopped vegetables, "he had to clean out a room so that she had a place to stay, then Jack realized he needed to inspect the rest of the building. It's been nonstop ever since."

"Yeah now Spot won't go away." Les spoke up, the annoyance in his voice crystal clear. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Spot?" the college student gave his brother a confused look, "What's he got to do with anything?"

Sarah quickly stepped into view, handed Les a list, and stated, "Could you run down to the corner store and pick up these items? I only planned on two for dinner."

The youngest sibling's face brightened as he jumped up, snatched up the list and stuffed it in his pocket. Once he left the apartment, Sarah waited a few seconds before crossing her arms in front of her and explained, "I had to get him out of here."

"Is he jealous -."

"Nothing like that, he's just protective of Sophia. They're best friends," she chuckled, returning to the kitchen to season the vegetables, "Sophia can't stand Spot. She ignores him, the times she talks to him it's insulting remarks."

David rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think I understand. Spot's not used to this kind of behavior from a woman."

"He's making an absolute fool of himself as he attempts to gain her attention," Sarah looked at her brother, hands on her hips, "I go to the lodging house to drop off lunch, and there's Spot without a shirt on and acting like he was hard at work helping Jack build those bunk beds."

"Was he helping?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I know more about carpentry than Spot does, let's just put it that way. I felt bad for Jack." Sarah stepped back into the small kitchen and placed the seasoned vegetables into a pan as she stated, "Les isn't the only one annoyed with Spot. Jack warned Spot to stay away from her, then advised Sophia to stay away from Spot."

Before David had a chance to respond, the apartment door swung open and Les stepped in, as did a young woman with a short haircut, pearl-gray eyes, and traditional newsie attire. David didn't recognize her, but had a feeling she was the infamous Sophia.

"I ran into Sophia! Can she stay for dinner?" Les handed a package to his sister, then pointed to his brother, who sat at the table, "That's my older brother David! Back from college!"

Sophia moved around the small apartment and held out her hand. "Les has told me a lot about you!"

"I'm slowly learning about you." he smiled at her as he shook her hand.

"Les I don't think -."

"C'mon Sarah," interrupted David, "let her stay for dinner."

* * *

Jack rolled up his sleeves as he walked up the squeaky steps, determined to finished the bunk beds. One side of the room was finished, brand new sturdy bunks that should last another twenty years or more. The other side was half done, Jack hoped to remedy that by the end of the day. His newsies needed a place to sleep. Entering the bunk room and snatching up a hammer from a table littered with tools located next to the door, Jack looked at the skeletal structure of a bunk. The old brass beds had to be thrown out, mainly because they were rotted out. Jack figured wood bunks might last longer.

He knelt down to start work, when a familiar voice called from the bottom of the stairs, "Jack?"

The night before he reprimanded Sophia. She came into the lodging house claiming she had dinner with his old friend David Jacobs and they talked about all kinds of things, such as what happened during the strike. Jack knew none of that could be true because David left New York for college, so he told Sophia it was cruel to play such a prank. He didn't so much call her a liar, but he may as well have. Now, Jack realized an apology was in order after hearing that familiar voice. He really hated to admit being wrong.

"Oh, if you're busy I can come back -."

"Nah it's alright," Jack gripped the hammer in his hand and glanced over his shoulder to see none other than his former strike partner. David stood at the bunk room door, wearing black slacks and a tan sweater vest over a white button up shirt, "How's college?"

David expected Jack to ask that question in a sarcastic tone. At least he didn't drag it out, the worst was out of the way. Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, "A lot of lectures and studying. Pretty boring."

"Heard you met Sophia," Jack stood and stepped away from his project. Setting the hammer on the table, he kept his eyes focused on the tools, "What was she doin' in the Jacobs apartment? Other than talkin' about the strike three years ago."

"Les ran into her and we let her stay for dinner," at that moment David couldn't tell if Jack was just protective of Sophia, or he was angry that the young newsgirl spoke to someone he was angry with, "Seems Les is annoyed with Spot -."

Jack's whole body seemed to spasm and change from completely tense to relaxed as he rolled his eyes and stated angrily, "I can't get rid of him!"

Sarah told David that Jack warned both of them to stay away from each other. Telling two people to stay away from each other could be a good thing, or harmful. It depended on the people involved. David and Sarah spent the evening talking about Jack and how he chose to act like an overprotective father to Sophia, while badmouthing his best friend. It wasn't until Sophia showed up that Jack spoke so harshly against Spot, usually he showed respect toward the Brooklyn leader. Spot is rough around the edges and has a reputation but he never had a chance to really interact with Sophia, and that could be why he's acting so strangely. Last night during dinner David understood clearly that Sophia could care less if Spot existed, Les explained that the first thing Spot said made her disregard his existence. So Jack really didn't need to step in, she made her own decision to stay away. Problem is, Jack's meddling could have an effect on what might happen in the future, if anything does.

"Dave, ever since Sophia showed up here a month ago, Spot's been here almost everyday." his hands slid into his pockets as he stared straight ahead at the wall, "Sophia's not even allowed up here, yet he does stupid stuff thinkin' it'll attract her attention."

David's eyes grew large. He didn't even want to know what Spot did, he'd like to keep the image of Spot as a tough guy. Leaning against the door frame, David suggested, "Well uh...did you ever stop to think he's attracted to Sophia?" Before Jack could start to argue, David continued, "I understand protecting her, after all she is the only newsgirl in your lodging house. But ever stop and think that you're overdoing it?"

Jack glared. "I know his reputation with women -."

"He's supposed to be this tough Brooklyn leader, most feared in all of New York," David raised his voice as he glared back, "Have you ever _once_ known him to act like a complete idiot for a girl he talked to once?!"

As much as he hated to admit it, David had a point. Jack and Spot's friendship went as far back as when they were kids, They knew each other's weaknesses, during the strike Spot wanted to make sure Jack wouldn't run away, that his decision was the real deal. Especially since Jack had a tendency to make not so wise decisions. Jack knew Spot never acted like he was desperate for attention when it came to women, the tough guy attitude made so he didn't have to be romantic. Somehow women found that lack of romance very romantic, and that's why they loved him so much. Except for one, Sophia.


	5. Chapter 5: Spot and Sophia

After three days of nonstop downpours, the city of New York attempted to dry out. Bright sunshine gave the residents relief from the constant rain for what seemed like an Eternity. There were concern the sewers weren't draining the rainwater fast enough, so workers spent countless hours guiding buckets of water away from the city. Puddles that once threatened to flood the streets, were now thin lines against the curbs. Central Park was still a soggy mess. It was so muddy and damp that many residents refused to go near it, but a select few didn't mind. A handful of newsies chose Central Park as the place to play a game of baseball, after a long day of selling they needed a chance to unwind. Especially after three days spent cooped up inside because of nonstop rain.

An older newsboy named Mason stood on the pitcher's mound, constructed of leaves and mud. The sleeves of his gray shirt were rolled up, showing off his muscular arms, and a cigarette dangled from his mouth as he tossed the ball back and forth. Mason was liked and respected by fellow newsies, but he tended to get mouthy during a game of baseball. When Les Jacobs stepped up to the plate (an empty beer bottle), Mason pulled the cigarette from his mouth and called, "Hey! Yer not gonna do like last time are ya?!"

Les simply stuck his tongue out and readied himself for the first pitch. Last time, Les got in a physical altercation with Mason after he was struck out. Instead of walking away and accepting the call, the pre-teen had to make something out of nothing. Later that day he vented to Sophia, who told him even the best ball players are struck out. Mason's chocolate brown eyes narrowed, he leaned forward as he decided on the perfect pitch for Les. He never listened to the catcher so whoever played that position just waited to see what Mason pitched. Standing up straight, he paused. Quick as lightening Mason's arm pulled back then snapped forward.

A loud crack echoed through Central Park.

"He actually hit it! Sophia, go see if you can find it!"

Sophia wasn't part of the game, as much as she wanted to be. Mason's flirtatious attitude resulted in several cuts and bruises he sustained from Sophia. After nonstop jabs from fellow newsboys over his getting beaten by a girl, Mason went from liking the former aristocrat, to despising her. Jack decided to prevent drama, Sophia not play baseball. He explained it was Mason's favorite game and if she played it could get nasty. Instead, she watched and supported her best friend.

Searching through the damp and muddy foliage, Sophia glanced over her shoulder and realized just how far she drifted from the game. She wondered just how far Les hit the ball, meanwhile hearing Mason scream at her to hurry because they needed the ball. _If you need it so bad, find it yourself! _Eyes focused on the ground, the young newsgirl started to get frustrated when a gray sphere spattered with mud appeared against a green and brown backdrop. Excited to finally find the ball, Sophia didn't notice the ball's exact location. When she reached over to pick it up, the familiar scent of alcohol and cigarettes made her sick to her stomach. _Not him! Not now!_

Spot Conlon bent down and picked up the mud stained ball at his feet, after standing to his full height his blue eyes stared out from under his gray cap. "This yers?"

She glared at him. "You know it is."

"You've got a real attitude problem."

Sophia rolled her pearl gray eyes, uninterested in a lecture from someone who's only skill is street fighting. In the next instant, she kicked him in the shin. A shocked Brooklynite let go of the ball and knelt down to rub his shin, meanwhile Sophia snatched the ball in midair, then sprinted toward the ball game. Spot, once he had a chance to register what transpired, bolted after the Manhattan newsgirl in a blind rage. Rounding a corner, he saw Sophia toss the ball to a confused Mason before attempting to hide in the busy streets.

"Hey! Sophia pissed off Spot Conlon!" yelled a newsboy.

Mason pulled his dark colored cap off and waved it over his head, in a desperate attempt to direct attention back to the game. He saw the fury in Spot's eyes, whatever Sophia did, other newsies didn't need to see what the Brooklyn Leader had planned for her. A loud whistle, he then exclaimed, "Alright! Back to the game!"

* * *

Sophia's lungs were on fire as she ran through the streets of Manhattan. Her years of dance training were nothing compared to this. It felt as though she had been running for years, when really it had only been a matter of minutes. Her leg muscles screamed out in agony, but the newsgirl knew she couldn't stop. An angry Brooklynite was hot on her heels. Ducking into an alley, she hid behind a pile of crates (grateful for dry ground) and desperately tried to catch her breath. While she massaged her throbbing legs, Sophia peeked over the crate and glanced down the alley into the bustling street for any possible sighting of Spot. The non-realistic hope that crossed her mind was Spot give up and go home. The reality of the situation, he basically planned to hunt her down. She understood his being angry, but there had to be a moral street fighter code that prevented him from attacking a female. Then again, Sophia might be the first female Spot had to fight. _Nice going idiot! _If he had every intention of fighting her, the best way to avoid Spot had to be sticking to the back alleys.

Once her breathing had returned to normal, and her legs were no longer throbbing, Sophia crawled out from behind the pile of crates. Dusting herself off and running fingers through her short hair, the newsgirl took a few steps backward then turned and gasped. Her eyes grew large as they fell upon a furious Spot Conlon. The Brooklyn leader never saw her disappear into the alley, however he anticipated the obvious and entered the veins of Manhattan's back alley system. When Spot found her crouched behind the pile of crates, he quietly snuck up behind his assailant.

"C'mere!" Spot violently grabbed Sophia's arm and stormed down an alley connected to the one she sat in. Though furious, he had to be careful since he never fought a girl before. Sophia struggled under his strong grip, he pushed her against a crumbling brick wall and growled, "What the hell's the matter with you?"

She raised her free arm in an attempt to slap his face. Attempt, because Spot gripped Sophia's wrist, the glare set in his icy blue eyes turned deadlier. He started to say something when suddenly Sophia started to struggle and pull away from him, her attention on activity at the end of the alley. Two male aristocrats, dressed in tuxedos, stood next to a horse drawn carriage. It looked like they just enjoyed the stage play that had been running in the Manhattan Theater for over a week. The constant squirming of Sophia began to get on Spot's nerves, he pinned her against the wall and asked, "What the hell's wrong with you?"

A terrified look on her face, Sophia replied, "Those two men are my brothers! You have to hide me, please!"

Confusion washed over the Brooklynite's face as he once again looked down the alley, then back at Sophia. He remembered the diner incident with Racetrack a month ago, and younger newsies mentioning to Jack how they covered for her. It then clicked, Sophia was front page headline news! What had Jack gotten himself into now?

"Damn it," he mumbled as one of the well dressed gentlemen started down the alley toward him. Releasing Sophia he quickly instructed, "Go around the corner an' hide in that pile of crates. Wait fer me!"

The second she disappeared around the corner, her brother stepped up next to Spot and asked, "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette?"

Spot gently patted his dark brown trousers as if searching, knowing full well he had a pack of cigarettes in his pocket because he swiped it earlier that morning. Finally removing a cigarette from his pocket, Spot handed it to Sophia's brother, along with a beat up matchbook. He hooked his thumbs under his bright red suspenders and watched the aristocrat carefully. Something about this gentleman made Spot very uncomfortable.

"Wasn't there someone else with you?"

"Yeah, but he obviously ain't here now."

The aristocrat snorted, then elegantly exited the alley to join his brother who waited patiently next to the carriage. Spot watched as the brothers were joined by an older couple, then together they stepped into the carriage and departed. He then walked down the alley, turned into the alley filled with crates, and found Sophia. In truth, Spot expected her to run away after the events of that day. Holding out his hand, Spot helped her off the ground then had to stop her from bolting out into the late afternoon crowds.

"Somethin' ain't right with the experience I just had with yer brother." Spot removed his cap and ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair in frustration, "I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I think it best I keep you outta sight."

"Shouldn't we warn Jack?"

"Warn him that the police are gonna raid his place?" Spot rolled his eyes as he pulled her toward the back alley, "He can handle police raids, trust me."

When Sophia continued to protest, going as far as to start down the alley toward the bustling streets, Spot's irritation hit its boiling point. Before Sophia had a chance to react, in one swift movement she was thrown over his shoulder like a rag doll. Spot ignored her insults as he continued to walk the back alleys of Manhattan toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Halfway across the bridge, Spot set Sophia firmly on the ground. She glared at him, wanting to slap him but last time failed. Then she remembered, he was only doing what she asked. In the alley, Sophia frantically asked Spot to help her, there was no reason to be angry with him.

"So why'd ya leave such a pampered life?" Spot leaned against the side of the bridge, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"It wasn't pampered for me," she snapped, leaning against the side as she pulled up her stockings, "all those lessons for acting, dancing, and singing. Only to perform for my parents friends."

Spot arched an eyebrow. "No school or parties with other rich kids?"

"Les is the first friend I ever had."

A frown appeared on the Brooklynite's face. As he motioned for Sophia to follow him toward Brooklyn, Spot tried to understand how a teenage aristocrat never had friends, or from the sound of it a boyfriend. What he understood of aristocrat life, kids were used as bargaining chips, be it in business or other ways. She was attractive, and there was the age old political alliance by way of marriage, so what happened?

"What about you?" Sophia asked as they stepped off the bridge, "What made you choose the street life?"

Spot dropped his cigarette stub on the street and stamped it out. She asked about a part of his life he tried desperately to forget. However, he did ask her first. Heaving a sigh, Spot replied, "My dad was a violent drunk who beat me. A couple of times I ended up with broken bones. So I ran off."

Street lamps started to burn bright as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Businesses started to close, as the taverns opened up and welcomed the Brooklyn night life. A pretzel cart wheeled past the couple, Spot immediately flagged down the seller. A quick exchange resulted in the seller opening the top of his cart and handing Spot two pretzels. He walked away from the cart and returned to Sophia, handing her one of the pretzels, which she reluctantly took.

"I didn't see you give him any money for this."

"Fine, go hungry," he started to grab for the pretzel but Sophia snatched it back, "the guy had five left, had no problem givin' 'em to me."

Sophia gobbled up the salted baked bread, suddenly realizing the last time she ate was early that afternoon, just before the ball game. After consuming the pretzel she slid her fingers through her short hair and asked, "Where am I to sleep? Since you expect me to stay in your territory tonight."

"Given what you've put me through I should just drop you off at an abandoned warehouse," Spot finished his pretzel, then glanced at Sophia, "there's a room you can stay in at the lodging house. I have to call Jack anyway an' let him know yer alright."

"Do we have to go now?" she noticed the slight look of surprise on his face, and attempted to explain, "I mean, I've never been to Brooklyn."

For the last month, Spot tried to attract Sophia's attention and get her to spend time with him in his territory. Jack had to stick his nose where it didn't belong and tell Spot no, which didn't work. Then he told Sophia to avoid Spot like the plague, unfortunately that did work. The problem was now she stood in his territory, and he had no idea what to do. Spot wasn't a tour guide after all. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he tried to think of what might interest her, at night, that wasn't a tavern. He blurted out, "Wanna see the docks?"

"Alright."

He instructed her to stay close as they walked the streets, because drunks were known to assault innocent passers-by. Ragtime music and laughter filled the air as taverns welcomed customers. Sophia was so used to Manhattan night life, which was calm and quiet with the occasional bar activity. Most people were inside and settled in by nine o'clock. Brooklyn continued to stay active long into the night. As they continued to walk, the music and laughter were replaced by the sounds of waves lapping against the wooden structure of the dock. Salty air filled Sophia's nostrils as the moonlight outlined stacks of crates littered with fishing supplies.

"This is our second home," explained Spot as he sat on a nearby crate, "we have other hangouts but this is the favorite."

Sophia walked down the dock and stood next to a large pile of crates, her fingers rubbed against the mesh of a net as she asked, "How do you have time to sell newspapers?"

"My guys do, I don't."

"Why because selling -."

"'Cause I can't read!" he glared at her, "I don't sell 'cause I can't read."

Sophia felt her heart fall into the pit of her stomach. The first thing she ever said to him was an insult to his reading skills. She felt both guilty and curious because though she said an awful thing to him, why continue to pursue someone who said something so cruel?

The salty breeze picked up, Sophia moved to sit on the edge of the dock. She contemplated dangling her legs over the edge, then decided to sit cross legged. Spot walked up behind the Manhattan newsgirl, then sat next to her. She glanced over at him and noticed the moonlight hit against something around his neck. Reaching, her fingers brushing against his bare chest as she gently tugged at the chain, Sophia discovered a skeleton key.

"What's this?"

"It's a key I found years ago."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Is this the key Race told me about?"

Spot rolled his eyes and laughed. "Him and that damn Coney Island treasure theory. At least it gives him somethin' to do outside the tracks."

"Do you have hobbies? Other than -."

"A lot of what you hear about me is exaggerated," Spot's eyes were focused on the dark horizon, "don't fall into the trap of believing everything you hear."

Another thirty minutes passed in silence, other than distant ragtime music next to water gently crashing below the dock. Spot fell into deep thought over the days events, how he went from wanting to cause bodily harm to Sophia, then spending an almost pleasant evening with her. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts he suddenly realized Jack must be worried sick. The Brooklyn leader went to move, but couldn't because Sophia's head was resting against his shoulder. The young teen was fast asleep.

"Damn it," Spot mumbled, unable to bring himself to wake her up, "Jack's gonna murder me."


	6. Chapter 6: Overprotective

The Brooklyn Lodging House went through a complete renovation after Mr. and Mrs. Salazar bought the building. Nobody wanted to take over the place because it meant having to care for the Brooklyn newsies. Frank and Elizabeth Salazar already raised six children, so they had no problem caring for a bunch of rebellious kids. Frank went to work fixing the establishment, first by constructing brand new bunks, which had new bedding that Elizabeth purchased. He then fixed the ancient plumbing system, and finally a kitchen was built downstairs in the back. Elizabeth cooked meals and worked on laundry, while Frank ran the front desk and did maintenance work. A few of the newsies who lived in the lodging house thought it ran more like a hotel since the Salazars took over.

Jack Kelly stormed into the establishment soon after the Brooklyn newsies ate breakfast and left to sell. His hair wasn't combed or slicked back, it looked as though he hadn't slept all night. Sophia never arrived home, he stayed up all night hoping to receive news of her whereabouts. When Les stopped by the lodging house, he told Jack what happened during the ball game. Mason received a harsh reprimand for not attempting to stop the Brooklyn leader. On his way to Brooklyn, Jack's mind kept reminding him what Spot might do to Sophia, which didn't help the situation.

"Jack...this is unexpected," Frank glanced up from his ledger, and tried not to react to Jack's unkempt appearance.

"Spot! Where is he?!"

"He didn't come in last night. I don't question why anymore." the older gentleman gave a quick wave of his hand as he closed the book and placed it back on the shelf.

Jack slammed his fist down on the registration desk. "My newsgirl didn't come in last night! He was last seen chasing her yesterday afternoon!"

The older gentleman crossed his arms over his chest and stated, "I think you need to calm down Mr. Kelly. As it happens, he finds your newsgirl quite charming."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, when familiar voices were heard outside the lodging house, that of Spot and Sophia. Still in a blind rage, the Manhattan lodging house owner stepped outside to see Sophia rubbing her neck and Spot smiling as he enjoyed a morning cigarette. They weren't holding hands, in fact they stood a few feet from each other. Nothing to indicate a scandalous act, but Jack saw otherwise. The Brooklyn leader was the first to notice Jack walking toward them and waved.

"Hey Jacky Boy! Meant to call ya last night!"

"So why didn't you?" Jack snapped back, a glare set in his smoky gray eyes.

Spot stopped and stared. "Am I bein' accused of somethin'?"

"Honestly Jack, you should be thanking Spot," a cranky Sophia explained, "my brothers showed up and he hid me from them."

Even the stubborn Jack Kelly had to back down when he heard Sophia's explanation. Yesterday afternoon he received a sudden visit from a police officer who asked to search the establishment. Almost a week after news hit of Sophia's disappearance, police would come in to search for evidence of Sophia. Sometimes a member of the Bryant family joined in the search. Every morning before work Sophia hid her belongings, then when the police asked about the clean room in the back, Jack always told them it was a guest room.

"So why didn't you call?"

"Oh get off it! I didn't even know she was a headliner until yesterday!" Spot didn't hide his annoyance at Jack's attitude, "I took her away from the danger, an' yer pissed?! That makes no sense!"

Sophia watched Spot storm into the lodging house. She crossed her arms in front of her and looked up at the Manhattan lodging house owner, someone she respected until this very moment. Heaving a sigh, she said, "You warned me to stay away from him, and I did. I trusted you. Why did you tell me all those awful things about him? What possible reason can you give me for hating Spot?"

"Sophia -."

"Nothing happened last night. He had every opportunity, and he didn't take it." She then walked past Jack and disappeared into the Brooklyn lodging house.

As much as he wanted to follow the couple inside the lodging house, reprimand Spot then drag Sophia back to Manhattan, Jack had to admit defeat. The conversation was over. It had nothing to do with his admitting to being wrong, but seeing that Spot and Sophia were furious with him, and he still felt anger toward Spot. Plus, information had been brought to his attention that he needed to consider before speaking to either one. Slowly, he walked back to Manhattan to face a long day of work.

* * *

The mid-afternoon sun beat down on the unusually busy Manhattan crowds. David Jacobs pushed through the crowds while keeping an eye out on his sister Sarah. It felt like a chaotic pinball machine, you were lucky to reach your destination. Upon reaching the Manhattan lodging house, the siblings to adjust their outfits after the tussle they received. This visit wasn't social, earlier the Jacobs apartment received a phone call, the information was discussed thoroughly, David and Sarah decided the best option was to confront Jack. A hard decision to make, but the Jacobs siblings agreed at the end of the day it could prevent a destructive ripple effect. When the siblings entered the building, Jack wasn't behind the registration desk.

"Is he still working on the bunk beds?" Sarah asked David as she worked to remove her brown leather gloves.

He shook his head as he started up the stairs. "No, the older newsboys helped him finish those a couple days ago. I'm not sure what his current project is," stopping halfway up the stairs, he called, "Jack! You up there?"

Loud thumps, profane language, then a few minutes passed before Jack appeared at the top of the stairs. After returning from Brooklyn, he took a nap, cleaned himself up, then started work in the upstairs washroom. Mason tore a shower door off its hinges, leaving one more thing for Jack to repair. He discovered all the shower doors needed to be replaced, as well as the bathroom stall doors. In the middle of measuring one of the stall doors, Jack heard David shout up the stairs.

"Didn't expect to see you here," measuring tool gripped in his hand, Jack started down the stairs. He stopped once he saw Sarah standing at the bottom of the stairs, "I take it you spoke to Sophia."

"Spot called the apartment, hoping to speak with me but David picked up the phone," explained Sarah, a concerned look on her face, "Jack, this isn't like you at all."

The lodging house owner rolled his eyes as he continued down the stairs and walked behind the registration desk. He dropped the measuring tool in a drawer and glanced up at his guests.

"I'm not going to repeat some of the things Spot said, but from the sound of it, they're justified," David moved to sit on the bottom step, a hand running through his curly hair as he tried to find the right words, "Spot doesn't hide who he is. Everyone knows his reputation with women. Are you convinced he can't change for that special young lady?"

"You really think a guy like him can change overnight?" snapped Jack.

"Yeah, I do!" David snapped back, "While you're telling him to stay away from Sophia, he's acting like a complete fool to gain her attention! The Spot Conlon I know expects a woman to come to him, no questions asked."

"Sophia is my responsibility -."

"Her love life should mean nothing to you!" David shot up and walked over to the registration desk, glaring at his friend, "She is your tenant! You're responsibilities are hiding her from who she ran away from, and collecting rent. That's same for every other tenant here! This ridiculous idea that Spot will sleep with Sophia the second he comes in contact with her, almost placed her back in the hands of her family! Resulting in you losing this place, because you hid the daughter of an aristocrat!"

"David," Sarah spoke calmly, fearful people outside might hear his outburst, "Jack, you know Spot can't read, he relies on people to tell him. He also has a strong dislike for aristocrats, and could care less what they do. You should have told him about Sophia, she was scared yesterday. The way he described, she pleaded while fighting back tears."

Before Jack tried to defend himself, David immediately started, "Spot told me the exchange he had with Sophia's brother made him uncomfortable. He said an aristocrat asked a street kid for a cigarette, stood next to Spot in silence for a few seconds, asked a question, then left the alley," he paused, so the information had a chance to register in Jack's mind, "He said it was obvious this kid never smoked before, Sophia confirmed her brothers are athletes and their training forbids smoking. I agree with Spot's theory, the family knows Sophia lives on the streets and hopes to find information by targeting street kids."

The lodging house owner heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. The constant police visits he could handle, it came with running a building filled with rebellious kids. Kloppman should have kicked everyone out with all the police visits he received, but he calmly took care of each one without a word. However, what could Jack do if the Bryant family chose to target the newsies out on the streets? He remembered when a man by the name of Snyder was obsessed with returning Jack to The Refuge. Snyder was a warden for The Refuge, a jail for orphans and street kids. Kloppman knew Snyder searched Manhattan for Jack, and when the warden came into his lodging house, the old man covered for Jack. The former newsboy needed to take more pages out of Kloppman's book on how to handle situations.

"Why are you so intent on Sophia avoiding Spot?" Sarah asked curiously. "She told me about the discussion you two had up in the theater balcony, and at the time you stated you can't tell her what to do. Yet you went all the way to Brooklyn and threw a tantrum because she didn't return home."

"Originally, my thought process was she's headline news so I have to keep her hidden," Jack kept his eyes focused on the scratched wood of the registration desk surface, "Spot's rebellious attitude could expose her."

The college student watched Jack perform his pitiful act, and found it immature. He wasn't a teenage newsboy anymore, but an adult businessman. Nudging the lodging house owner, David said, "You should have stopped there. Warn Sophia that Spot is rebellious, and remind her she's trying to stay out of the public eye. Job done, step back."

The pitiful attitude switched to defensive as Jack focused his eyes on his former strike buddy. "You're forgetting one important thing College Boy. She is the only newsgirl under my care."

"So why is it Spot is the only one you target?" David heaved a sigh, his fingers danced against the pocket watch chain that dangled from his vest. He started to believe going in for a root canal was more enjoyable than trying to talk sense to Jack Kelly, "Why not Race? From what I understand Mason was interested in her. She's an attractive young lady, and several newsboys have shown interest in her, but all your rage is focused on Spot. Why?"

Quietly standing off to the side, Sarah watched the fight escalate into a screaming match. She knew how the two interacted, and something was off. Jack wasn't fighting back, he did everything possible to upset David. In the past, the former strike leader didn't back down until everyone was convinced he was right, even if he was wrong. Sarah watched that same man act like a complete drama queen. Then it clicked what Jack was doing, he still held a grudge over David leaving for college, despite making it seem like it the hatchet was buried. This had nothing to do with Sophia and Spot, he just wanted David to suffer. Sarah, without a word, walked around behind the desk and grabbed Jack by the collar of his shirt. Stomping down the hall, she pulled him into Sophia's room, released him, and snapped, "I'm not about to sit back and let you destroy Les's best friend!"

"Sarah -."

Before she could stop herself, Sarah reached a hand back and slapped Jack full force across the face. "Don't Sarah me Jack Kelly! Those two adore each other! And I will not let your stubborn ego ruin the special bond those two have!"

When she slapped him, the force was so hard it caused him to fall back against the wall. It was the first time Jack feared Sarah.

"The family she ran away from told her what to do every single day of her life. She ran away so she could make her own decisions," Sarah stood over him as he sat on the floor and rubbed his red cheek. Hands on hips, she continued, "Free from her family, the poor girl now has to deal with her landlord constantly following her around. Controlling her love life and accusing others of things that never happened and probably never will happen!"

David stepped into the room. "Hey, I heard a loud pop and," he then saw Jack on the floor and arched an eyebrow, "...oh."

"How many times have you brought up that Spot is a womanizer and notorious for one night stands since he crossed paths with Sophia? Owning a business doesn't remove the rebellious life you once had Jack Kelly!," she grabbed Jack's vest and violently pulled him to his feet, "You have never been this overprotective for any other newsie in this lodging house. Granted she's headline news and the daughter of a rich family but she can take care of herself! She fought off Mason, and Spot told us she kicked him so hard it broke the skin. If she didn't want Spot to touch her, I'm sure he'd end up with a black eye, or worse!"

The lodging house owner started to say something then stopped. He first stared at Sarah, then turned and glanced at David, who didn't respond. He should've known Mason's cuts and bruises weren't the result of a bar fight, considering how often those "bar fights" happened. Medda met with Jack and let him know Sophia couldn't sell around the theater anymore, after she broke a stagehand's nose. Hearing Sophia assaulted Spot Conlon, Jack wasn't ready to accept it.

"Jack," the college student was starting to lose steam, but didn't want to leave until he knew something had registered in his friend's thick head, "You messed up by not telling Spot everything about Sophia. He did the right thing by taking her to Brooklyn right after talking to Sophia's brother, truth is she wanted to come here but he wouldn't allow it. The guy you've been attacking saved your newsgirl and your business with one quick decision."

"Sophia is also very hurt, and I don't blame her," Sarah turned her back on Jack, unable to look at him as she spoke, "When Les first mentioned Spot to her, he just sounded like a punk kid. She met him and decided he was just a kid to avoid. Then you filled her head with nonsense! You lied to her!"

David led his sister out of the room and told her to wait for him in the lobby. Sliding his hands in his pockets, he stood in the doorway and explained to Jack, "I told Spot that Sophia should stay in Brooklyn for a couple days. You have a lot to think about, and Sophia needs a day when she's not looking over her shoulder."

"Dave -."

He held up his hand. "I don't want to hear it. So far Spot isn't the problem, it's you." David then turned and walked away. He found his sister waiting patiently in the lobby, gloved fingers tapping against the registration desk. Together they stepped out into the street as an evening breeze passed over the city.

"Think he heard anything we said?" Sarah asked as they walked back to the Jacobs apartment.

"Should've slapped him sooner. That's when he started listening."


	7. Chapter 7: The Plan

**[ So I'm sure you've figured out that Mason is my original character. Well I'm throwing another one at you, Jackal. He's a character I've had for years, and I've always liked him. Why not use him in this story? ] **

The late morning hour approached as Spot and Jackal, his right hand man, arrived at the docks. Ship bells rang off in the distance and sailors on nearby ships barked orders at each other as Jackal sat on a crate. He watched his leader walk the length of the dock, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he tapped the rickety wood with his trademark cane. An Egyptian immigrant, Jackal was an attractive youth that many found mysterious, usually young ladies. Coal black hair accented his brown skin tone, unusual gold eyes were surrounded by a thick layer of eyelashes that made it look as though he wore eyeliner. He was tall and slender, on the surface he didn't look like a fighter, but Jackal had a reputation for being deadly. Every newsie in Brooklyn respected Jackal, because nobody could argue with Spot, call him a nasty name, and get away with it.

"So is this about the girl?" Jackal didn't hide his frustration. Unlike Spot, he sold every morning and sometimes in the evening. The idea of having to skip selling because his boss had to talk out his personal feelings outraged the young Egyptian.

"Her name is Sophia," Spot turned and glared at Jackal, removing the cigarette from his mouth he snapped, "and let's get this outta the way. I like her but she tolerates my existence."

"So you finally admit to liking her. Took long enough."

"Shaddup!"

Jackal glanced down at the ground and grabbed a block of wood that rested next to his foot. Reaching into his trouser pocket he removed a switchblade and began to carve into the wood. Often during gang meetings, Jackal sat off to the side and carved little figures. As Spot's right hand man, he already knew what the topic of discussion was about, if a fight started he held the knife. Jackal's current little project left him thinking over why Spot fixated on one girl. Days after Spot's first meeting with Sophia, Jackal suspected famous reputation his boss spent years to establish, was falling apart. He thought Sophia returned Spot's affections, a fair assumption since the Brooklynite visited Manhattan everyday. Why would Spot waste his time on a girl that refused to give him the time of day? There were enough girls in New York who worshiped him.

"Spot, you hate aristocrats. Why bother with this one?"

Heaving a sigh, Spot flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the crashing waves below. "I didn't know she was a rich kid until yesterday. When she told me those fancy dressed fellas next to the carriage were her brothers, that's when I realized she was a headliner."

Stabbing the crate he sat on with the switchblade, the Egyptian newsboy stood and handed Spot a small wooden bird with outstretched wings. When Spot refused to take it, Jackal set it on top of a net that rested over a pile of crates. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his faded black trousers, Jackal simply stated, "Sounds to me like she escaped their abuse."

Spot frowned as he leaned against his cane. "Unfortunately that makes sense. She said they were athletes, so did they knock her around?" he stood up straight, rubbed his forehead and groaned, "This family gives me a damn headache."

The Egyptian newsboy ambled to the edge of the dock and watched a group of fishermen on a nearby shore. They seemed more interested in telling exaggerated stories than reeling in the biggest catch. Earlier, on their way to the docks, Spot viciously accused Jackal of withholding information. An untrue statement, since the Brooklyn leader had been told by Jackal and several other newsies about about the rich kid kidnapping, but the name of the victim was Ava Bryant, not Sophia. Jackal told his boss that photographs showed a young teenager in beautiful dresses accented with several pounds of jewelry, and her long hair perfectly styled. Sophia looked nothing like Ava with her short scruffy hair, baggy clothes, and dirty face.

"Hey, if Sophia is in fact this kidnapped Ava Bryant, think she knows somethin'?" shoving his hands in his pockets, Jackal didn't wait for a response from Spot as he explained, "That Bryant family can't stay outta scandal, but as quickly as the scandal's printed it's erased from existence. Mr. Bryant's been in multiple business scandals, Mrs. Bryant's been in a few theft scandals, an' those two sons of theirs? Nonstop cheatin' scandals, and there was a rape scandal a couple years ago."

As Jackal spoke, Spot gripped his cane and swung at empty bottles that were lined up on a beam. If he ever had to question why he despised aristocrats, Spot just had to look at the Bryant family's behavior. Money doesn't give anyone the right to do whatever they want. It started to make sense why Sophia ran away, it had nothing to do with the endless lessons. Spot wished he asked more questions the day before on the bridge, but a newsie rule prevented him from doing so. The newsies never asked why someone ran away, because the less you know the better. The real question is how the Bryant family expected New York to help find a girl they've never seen? Sophia told Spot she was isolated her whole life, now suddenly her family expects the city to help find this unknown aristocrat.

"That family is turnin' New York upside down in a mad attempt to find this kid of theirs, an' I gotta ask why," Jackal pushed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. After taking a long drag, he handed the cigarette over to his boss, "Why bother to look for a child they hid from the world?"

Spot accepted the cigarette, letting the nicotine calm him down. He tapped Jackal against the chest with his cane, then started to walk quickly away from the dock.

"Let's make a call to Jack!"

* * *

Jack Kelly stood behind the registration desk, his smokey gray eyes focused on a sheet of paper. Pencil in hand, tapping hard against the counter surface, the numbers sloppily scribbled against the paper weren't adding up in his favor. After all the fighting the day before, Jack decided to distract himself with repair work. Unfortunately, calculating costs to fix the washroom reminded he was broke. When he took over the lodging house, Medda and Bryan Denton told Jack they would give him anything he asked for because it was for the newsies. Unfortunately pride got in the way, he wanted to prove he could run the place as well as Kloppman, but the last few years of his life Kloppman let the building deteriorate. Jack hated the idea of going to his two mentors and asking for help, but the newsies in his care deserved a place that wasn't falling apart.

Suddenly the wall phone behind him rang loudly, causing him to jump. Heaving a frustrated sigh as he slammed the pencil down and stepped over to the phone. Jack snatched the earpiece and pressed it against his ear.

"Newsies lod...oh hey Spot. Didn't expect to hear from you."

"Hey Jacky boy. Hate to bother you 'cause I know yer busy."

"Nah don't worry about it." He silently thanked his friend for pulling him away from the numbers that started to frustrate him, "What's on yer mind?"

"The day Sophia signed up at yer place. Did she tell you who she was?"

Jack didn't answer right away. When Spot had that specific tone in his voice, he was playing detective. He hoped Spot's right hand man Jackal supervised him on this particular investigation, to prevent an incident. Clearing his throat, he replied, "The day she came in, I told her she looked like the missin' Bryant kid. She didn't contradict me. Can't you ask her this?"

"Mrs. Salazar is spendin' the day with her," explained Spot, "Listen Jacky, my boy Jackal thinks her family wants her back 'cause she knows somethin' that could result in the ultimate scandal."

Closing his eyes tight, Jack pressed the phone earpiece against his forehead. Well aware of the Bryant family's scandalous behavior, he should have expected the constant police visits had a deeper meaning. He never spoke to Sophia about her family, even if he wasn't a newsie anymore. Though as a landlord maybe he should've asked more questions. The day before David told Jack to back off, he so badly wanted to tell his former strike partner that warning was null and void.

"Jack? Still there?"

"Yeah. Jackal's theory makes sense. Every day the cops come in here searchin' for evidence of Sophia, startin' to get really annoyin' at this point."

"Listen, the Salazars have offered to let her stay -."

"No." Jack spoke calmly, sliding a hand in his pocket and playing with the few coins it housed, "I know yer tryin' to do the right thing but I don't think she should stay in Brooklyn."

"On what grounds Cowboy?"

He heard both the anger and defensive in his friend's voice, he had to choose his words carefully. Events from the day before were bad enough, last thing Jack needed was another argument that could destroy his friendship with the Brooklyn leader. Taking a deep breath, Jack replied, "I've seen evidence of yer strong attraction. Can you keep it under control if she's there all day, everyday?"

There was a long pause. Jack expected to hear a click, indicating Spot hung up the phone, but the Brooklynite's voice finally replied, "Jackal just informed me how bad this attraction has become. Well shit Jack there's gotta be an answer."

Glancing over his shoulder upon hearing someone enter the lodging house, Jack gave a light wave to Racetrack Higgins. "I think the solution just walked in. I'll call you back."

Racetrack stepped up in front of the registration desk, reminding himself once again not to empty his pockets. When he resided in the lodging house, Kloppman would stand behind the desk every night and wait for Racetrack to arrive. There were times the Italian newsboy stayed out until almost three in the morning, thinking the old owner gave up and went to bed. Kloppman was there, and every time forced Racetrack to empty all the pocket change he had on the desk. A lecture concerning the value of money followed, but it fell on deaf ears as Race continued to gamble his rent money away.

"Hey Cowboy, is Sophia around? Gotta message from Medda."

"She's actually in Brooklyn at the moment." Jack stepped out from behind the registration desk, an annoyed tone in his voice, "Events beyond my control led to that decision."

The former newsie turned theater worker sensed his friend wasn't happy with Sophia spending time in Brooklyn. He knew Spot formed an attraction to the newsgirl, everyone in New York had to know at this point. Young Les Jacobs couldn't hide his disgust over how Spot acted around Sophia, saying he missed the old Spot Conlon. Racetrack had to agree the younger newsboy, Spot used to stand by his tough guy reputation, until he crossed paths with Sophia. The other wrench in the gears was Jack's decision to become an overprotective father, which put a strain on his friendship with Spot. Fellow newsies, such as Race, could only watch in silence. It was a known rule, never step in the middle of a Jack and Spot argument.

"So what's this message?" Jack adjusted a faded painting that hung next to the staircase, "Didn't Medda ban Sophia from the theater for breakin' that guy's nose?"

"That's just it. Remember Kip Oxley, the hoofer?"

"What about him?"

"He returned from a trip over in Europe. Some big tour, somethin' like that. Well he came back an' asked about Sophia. When told about the banishment, Kip sat down with Medda an' let her know that stagehand deserved it."

The lodging house owner arched an eyebrow. "So she was defending herself?"

"Yep," the Italian noticed the sheet of paper with numbers scribbled all over it, "Hey, was that Spot you were talkin' with on the phone?"

"Yeah, he's concerned about Sophia," Jack sighed as he slid a hand over his slicked back hair, "his friend Jackal has a theory her family wants her back home to prevent scandal."

Race stopped, a frown seemed to take over his entire face. He adored Sophia like a sister. Ever since her first day of work, the newsies were told to keep her hidden. After the diner incident, several close calls followed, but it was worth it to keep Sophia safe. Removing his worn out cap and setting it on the counter, Race slide his fingers through his dark hair and asked, "What the hell could she know?"

Disregarding Race's question, Jack further explained, "Sophia needs a place to stay, the cop visits around here are gettin' dangerous. Spot said the Salazars offered her a place, but his affections make Brooklyn another place -."

"I don't have a place an' you know it! Ask Les an' Sarah!"

A smile appeared on the former newsie's lips. "The Jacobs apartment is so small, I'm shocked a whole family lived there," Jack lightly punched Race on the arm, "Those rooms we used to sneak into all the time? In Irving Hall, upstairs. Are those in use or still abandoned?"

"All in use, now that Medda's expanded an' added all those shows," Race's eyes suddenly went wide and he punched his friend hard on the shoulder, "That's a brilliant idea! Just use the right costume an' make-up job."

The lodging house owner rubbed his shoulder, giving his friend a dirty look. "Race -."

"If she performs fer Medda, Sophia can hide in one of those dressin' rooms."

Sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, the lodging house owner took a few seconds to work out the details. Race had the right idea, Sophia needed a place to stay and with the right disguise the Bryant family would have no clue they were watching her. If they ever set foot in a vaudeville theater. Rubbing his jaw, the former strike leader suddenly shook his head and explained, "No, can't work. When I was...romantically involved with one of the dancers there, I learned performers have a signature move."

"What does that mean?"

"Like Medda, the way she holds her arms when she sings. Or Charlotte and the quick bounce she does after every step. I'm sure this Kip Oxley has one," Jack rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, "Sophia was trained under the eagle eye of her parents. They'll know it's her the second she gets out on stage, even with the heavy disguise."

The Italian wasn't one to give up. "Maybe she can be re-trained. All her trainin' is traditional, not this modern vaudeville stuff."

Jack had to be careful. He didn't want Sarah to slap him again for interfering in Sophia's life, but how was this doing harm? If Jackal is right, and the reason for this Bryant manhunt is to keep skeletons from spilling out into the streets, then Sophia needed to be kept safe. Racetrack seemed to have every solution to help her blend in. Jack looked at his friend, took a deep breath, and explained, "I want you first to speak with Medda about all this. Remind her we're goin' on a theory, an' just want to keep Sophia safe. If she approves, go directly to Brooklyn an' tell Sophia. Maybe talk to Spot first."

"While I'm doin' all this footwork, what're you gonna do?"

"Race, yesterday I got in an argument with Spot. Followed by Sophia snappin' at me. Then I had the pleasure of gettin' in a fight with Dave an' Sarah. I'm gonna stay out of it."

Suddenly, Racetrack realized how exhausted his friend looked. The famous Jack Kelly who led hundreds against the richest man in New York City, looked like he had twenty years sucked out of him overnight. He picked up his cap, and said his goodbyes before exiting the lodging house. Jack needed help, but was too proud to admit it. Sadly, people were so focused on Sophia and her predicament that they disregarded the lodging house owner.

"Why Mr. Higgins, you seem distressed."

He snapped his head around to discover his lovely boss, Medda Larkson, exiting one of the finest Manhattan restaurants. A pink lace gown and white gloves, matched the sparkling star barrettes that held her flaming red hair in place. Racetrack walked up to her and bowed lightly before offering his arm to her. Medda and Race formed a friendship that society didn't want to accept, so they attacked it. They ignored the rumors, as did the newsies theater community.

"Did you speak with Sophia?" Medda ignored passers-by who waved or called out her name.

"Nah, 'cause she's in Brooklyn right now," Race wondered if he should speak now or wait until they reach the theater. Unable to stop himself, he continued, "There's worry that her family's lookin' for her 'cause they want to stop her from talkin'."

The Swedish singer turned her head and stared. "Are you suggesting Sophia knows something that could result in scandal?"

"Miss Larkson, Sophia knows how to fight," he had to admit that was an unusual skill for a female aristocrat, "Mason's one of the best fighters, and she's beat him up several times. Where did she learn this?"

Medda's brow furrowed. "Or perhaps she isn't fighting, its self defense."

The two entered Irving Hall through the backstage door. Rehearsals for various acts were held on stage, while the famous hall of dressing rooms bustled with practice sessions and angry outcries of something not working properly. Medda and Racetrack walked swiftly down the hall, toward her office and shut the door. The walls were covered with posters or programs from past shows, in one corner of the room a bookcase filled with newspaper clippings and photographs of stage performers spilled out onto the floor. The attractive business owner sat down behind her desk, as Racetrack walked over and glanced through the photographs.

"Racetrack, you know I adore Sophia, but how can I help?"

He grinned. "Hide her here, as one of yer performers."

Medda's eyes bulged as she glanced up at him. "Have you gone mad?!"

"It'll be perfect! She's not trained in vaudeville so we'll have to re-train her. If her family ever came around here, they'd be lookin' for traditional technique." he could tell Medda was interested, so he continued, "She'll need the perfect disguise. Costume an' make-up, might even use a catchy stage name that her parents wouldn't connect with their daughter."

She lightly tapped the top of the desk with her fingertip while thinking over the idea. She still felt guilty for banning Sophia, but Medda didn't want to place her in any further danger. The other fear is that she could lose her business if it's discovered she helped hide the daughter of an aristocrat. Somehow the Bryant family had the power to destroy businesses, Medda didn't want them to come for her. Race seemed confident, it was obvious he thought this through. Leaning back in her chair, the theater owner stated, "I'll talk with Toby and see which of my performers can help train Sophia."


End file.
